Wanderlust by Annabeth Leong

Author:Annabeth Leong
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sweetmeats Press
Published: 2015-03-26T16:58:36+00:00

Going Up

Lily Harlem

“Henry, where are we going?” I asked, touching the strip of black velvet he’d used to blindfold me twenty minutes earlier. “Please tell me.”

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” he said, his lips moving against the material at my ear.

His warm breath seeped through to my skin and as always a shudder of delight at his nearness tickled over my body.

“I’ve told you already, patience is a virtue,” he whispered.

“But I wanted to stay in bed,” I moaned, thinking of how much I’d enjoyed being naked beneath the duvet in our quaint Oxfordshire hotel room. We hadn’t made nearly enough use of our antique bed posts. I still had a few more fantasies I’d like to realize with those, one of which involved tying him up with his silk tie and leather belt and seeing just how much he liked being teased.

“It will be worth it, darling,” he said softly. “I promise.”

The taxi took a sharp bend and I bunched against him. Quickly he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and held me secure. I was glad of his extra support to stop me from sliding on the cool leather seat. My skirt was short and silky and gave no friction. It was a little unnerving to be driven with no sense of the approaching twists and turns in the rural road.

“I thought we were going for a walk and pub lunch today,” I said. “When we eventually got up.”

“I had a much better idea.”

I could well imagine the wicked glint that would have been in his eyes as he spoke. Henry Worthington-Foster’s ideas were always of the dirty, sexy variety. We’d been dating for six months, an intense whirlwind of wild nights and wilder weekends with no expense spared. He was different to my previous boyfriends. I thought of sex a lot, all the time in fact, and I’d always suspected my libido was higher than average. It had put other men off, but not Henry. Henry kept up with me on all-night-marathon sex sessions and his anything-goes-as-long-as-it-feels-good attitude matched mine.

I tapped my fingers up his leg to his groin then rested my palm over the zipper on his jeans. Beneath the fabric I could feel his fleshy half-mast, happy and expectant but not quite rampant—yet.

“Am I going to get off, where you’re taking me?” I asked quietly.

“Get off as in ‘be fucked senseless’?” he said loudly.

I giggled. I could just imagine the taxi driver’s face. Henry’s quintessentially English pronunciation, his rounded vowels and consonants that could cut glass, always pricked people’s ears when he’d talk dirty. It didn’t fit his tall, eloquent style, floppy dark hair and beautifully tailored country casual outfits.

To me the whole package of Henry was seriously seductive and I was starting to wonder what would happen if he stopped calling to arrange rampant liaisons.

“Why are you laughing?” he asked, shifting his hips and pressing his groin against the palm of my hand a little more. He was always greedy for my touch.

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